Something More
by thursdaynexxt
Summary: A window into why Isobel wanted to become a vampire, why Damon turned her, and the aftermath. *Updated and now rated M (for vamp sex and violence)*
1. Chapter 1 Passion

Alaric walked through the door, tossing his keys into the bowl on the dining room table. He stifled a yawn as he flipped through the day's mail. Bills, the monthly Duke newsletter, a postcard from a former student of Isobel's. Ric smiled as he glanced over the scribbled paragraph. Isobel had only been teaching for a few years, but she was already immensely popular among the students.

Truthfully, Ric knew he was, too- when he'd canceled tonight's class, for example, there was actually a groan from the class instead of a cheer. But it was such a nice night, the first warm evening of spring, and he wanted his students to enjoy it. And hell, he wanted to enjoy it, too. He planned to give Isobel a call once he got home, and go pick her up her up for a night out, just the two of them. He was pretty sure she had taken advantage of his "long day" to go out with the girls, like she usually did on Thursdays, but he was sure he could convince her to cut it short for a date night.

Ric dropped the mail back on the table. As he did, the dim light from the kitchen reflected off the silver crest on his newly-acquired "family heirloom." He fingered it absently, a smile on his lips. It had taken a few days to get used to, but he already loved the ring. Though Isobel used to give him gifts out of the blue all the time, he couldn't remember the last time she had done it.

And not a moment too soon.

"_Surprise gifts aren't fair. I always feel bad for not getting you something." Ric absently fingered the velvet box. _

"_Just open it." Isobel looked like she would burst from anticipation. _

_He opened the box. "Oh, that's... a giant piece of jewelry."_

_She laughed. "I know, it's... ridiculous. Just tell people it's a family heirloom. Nobody questions that."_

"_Where'd you get this?"_

"_If I told you, you'd laugh at me." She laughed, herself. "But promise me that you'll always wear it. It'll protect you from all the things that go 'bump' in the night." _

"_A ring to ward off the demons, huh?" He chuckled. _

"_Consider it a token of my love, my affection... and, if nothing else, an apology for being so crazy."_

"_Well, you are definitely crazy," he said, but he knew she understood that his teasing was light. _

_She continued. "I am selfish, and I am obsessed, and I am a horrible wife. But you love me anyway."_

"_Yes, I do." He gazed at her, with adoration in his eyes. She stared back with the same intensity. _

He had been worried about her for so long, and not just for the sake of their marriage- he was worried about her safety in general. What if, during one of her many trips to Mystic Falls, she stumbled across what she was looking for? Or- more likely, since he couldn't bring himself to believe in the vampires Isobel so stridently insisted were reality, not fiction- what if she stumbled upon a real, human killer? A serial killer, even, one who had been disguising his vicious murders as animal attacks? Ric had discovered the crime scene photos that Isobel had so carefully concealed from him- he didn't even want to think about how she'd obtained them, or how she could bear to study them. The photographs were disturbing. They almost didn't look real. He had hoped and prayed that there truly were just an unusual amount of animal attacks in Mystic Falls. He just couldn't imagine a person doing something like to another human being.

But it was all irrelevant now- Isobel had promised she would give it all up. Well, not in so many words- but she'd apologized and given him the ring, and that meant she was giving it up. Right?

Right.

So, it was all okay now. It was all over now. And now Ric had, essentially, two wedding rings- one that celebrated the day of their marriage, and one that celebrated the day he became certain of their future together once again. So maybe it had all been worth it. She'd gotten all of this craziness out of her system, and now they would be settled. Maybe even talk about children again. In a year or two...

A voice, followed by a soft noise, from above pulled Ric out of his thoughts. He realized that, despite her car not being in the driveway, Isobel must be home. He smiled, realizing he could surprise her. They could stay up all night. Isobel had always been a night owl. He was the one who conked out at 10, and woke up at dawn. Just that morning Isobel had teased him about it.

_Florence and the Machine, a little-known band they both loved, hummed on their iPod dock. He kissed Isobel's forehead._

"_No... it's not even seven yet," she protested. _

"_Which means you shouldn't be awake for at least six hours." He smiled at her. _

_She smiled back, sleepily. "I hate morning people."_

"_I'm gonna be home late."_

"_I love you." She looked so happy. He was so happy. _

"_I love you, too." She slid under the covers. _

Ric began to creep up the stairs, a smile on his face, but three steps up, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye and turned. He walked slowly through the foyer and entered the living room, which he'd skirted by earlier, his head buried in the mail. He flicked the light on and stared in disbelief into the large room.

It was a disaster. Cushions were pulled from the couch and chairs, lamps lay on their sides, and several were broken. And there was _something_ all over the beige carpeting, some dark liquid. Ignoring the voice in his head that said _panic_, Ric leaned over the carpet, and touched one of the spots. He pulled his hand back and recoiled.

It was blood. And it was _everywhere_. The voice took over, and Ric panicked.

"Isobel? ISOBEL!"

He flew up the stairs, then forced himself to slow down as he approached the bedroom. He cursed the panic- if whoever attacked her was still in the house, it would have been better to have the element of surprise. He crept through the hallway, pausing at the door. He winced, momentarily afraid of what he might find.

He shook off the fear. Called out, hesitantly.

"Isobel...?"

And then, time stopped. When Alaric looked back on that night- the next day, in the police station, the next month, in the North Carolina Missing Persons' Center, the next year, in the Mystic Grill- that's always how he remembered it. Time stopped, the world paused, and the only thing that moved was _it_.

_It _was the stopped minute hand of the clock, the halted gravity of the sun, which no longer had any pull on the Earth. _It_ was the only thing that moved. For years the image of It holding his wife, ripping the life out of her, was all he could remember. But even after he stopped thinking of the vampire as an _it_, and realized it was a _him_, he couldn't put that image out of his mind. Most people would say that was normal. He saw his wife being murdered, of course he would always remember it, have the image burned into his consciousness, forever. And that was true, of course. But he knew that there was another truth.

It wasn't just a murder that he saw. There was so much more to it than that.

A predator celebrating the capture of his prey, a lover's caress, a father cradling his sleeping child. All of those things at once. The intensity, the passion, the solace- Ric had never seen anything like it before, and he was sure that he never would again.

He saw them for ten seconds- maybe less. But in those horrifying moments, he realized it was all true. Everything Isobel had sought to uncover, everything she'd yearned to find. It was all true. And that truth—that proof that she had been so desperate to discover— was draining the life from her. Or she was already dead. When he first saw them, framed in the window in the blue-grey light, he saw his face, buried in her neck. And even though blood soaked her shirt, and even though he seemed to be holding her off the ground, which would require an enormous amount of strength, and even though he knew what he knew, Ric still held onto the tiniest piece of hope that he was just a killer- "just" some psychopath who Isobel had stumbled upon in her misguided search. In that split second, as awful as it was, he grasped at this notion as some sort of truth. But that was all over the second the vampire paused.

The vampire didn't look up at him, which Alaric found out later was miraculous, and could only be explained by bloodlust. He didn't lift his head to acknowledge Ric, or check to see if he and his victim were still alone.

He was merely pausing to savor the moment. He was reveling in the kill, in the blood that was smeared on his inhuman face, and dripping off of it. He licked his lips, and sighed, moaned. He stared into his prey's neck like it was the sun, and the moon and the stars, and all he would ever need. Then he sank his teeth into her neck again. The sight of it, and the sound of the blood dripping from his wife's neck into an already enormous pool on the floor, and the coppery smell of the gore- Alaric couldn't help it, he gasped, and staggered backward. The vampire lifted his eyes to Ric's, and they were black and soulless. He was death, and nothing more. Ric blinked, and in a flash, less time than it took a lightning bolt to strike, or a lightbulb to pop out, the vampire was gone.

And so was Isobel.


	2. Chapter 2 Promise

Damon walked into the bar and sat down next to the woman who most closely resembled what John had described. She was a girl, really- she couldn't have been out of her twenties.

He smiled at his line of thinking- when Damon was growing up, she would have been considered matronly at that age. But times had changed, and he was over one hundred years old. She was a girl to him.

A very beautiful girl, with long hair, long legs, and a killer scent.

He ordered a whiskey, and turned to her with a seductive smile. She tilted her body towards his and smiled. "You must be Damon."

"And _you_ must be Isobel," he said, raising his eyebrows. "I didn't realize you'd be so... young."

"John and I are the same age," she said in a voice that he now observed to be raspy and unique.

"Yeah, funnily enough, I've never actually MET John. He's a friend of a friend of an... enemy."

"Then why are you doing him a favor?"

He smiled at her. "How do you know I am? Maybe I'm just here for the view." His eyes swept over her from neck to ankles.

She laughed, softly. "John DID warn me that you're a bit of a devil. Actually, I think he used the word 'demon.'"

"For someone I've never even met, he knows me pretty well. I can be a demon. But only when I wanna be."

"And how often is that?" she asked, still smiling.

"Pretty much always." He gulped the rest of his whiskey and slammed down the glass. "So, they tell me you're interested in... 'folklore.'" He made air quotes around the word as he whispered it.

"Yup. Well, that's what my thesis is about, anyway."

"Mmmm. And why did John think I'd be able to help you with this 'research"? He leaned in close to her.

"John and I are from Mystic Falls. He told me you have firsthand experience with some of the local legends there."

"Well, _that_ is definitely true." He signaled to the bartender for another drink, then pulled his barstool closer to hers, entangling his feet in the rungs on her stool. Their knees interlocked. "But tell me something..."

"Okay," she whispered. He knew that she knew what he was, and he could hear from the rapid pace of her heartbeat that she was scared, yet excited. _His favorite combination_. He was already planning on killing her, and he hated when people weren't afraid before he killed them. It took the fun out of it.

He liked letting people know what he was. When he did, his victim's reaction was usually pure terror, which triggered their fight-or-flight reflex. When that happened, he would compel the victim to stay terrified, but to stay with him and tell him they wanted him to bite them.

When Damon looked at it objectively, it was immeasurably cruel. But when his prey was in his arms, terrified and desperate to escape, their bodies and whispers betraying them and leaning further into his embrace…he wasn't objective.

Once in a while, if he met the right girl or guy, they'd be a little thrilled by what he was. Romanticize it. Before he ripped the blood out of their body, of course. It was the rare, rare person who enjoyed _that._

Though he had come across one or two such lost souls in his long life.

"If you know what I am, WHY would you tell _me_ you know that you know? Because any _human_ who knows about us is a liability, and my liability insurance involves torture and a shallow grave." She recoiled a little at the word "torture," or was it "grave," but he put his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her back in. "You must know that- John told me you'd been researching us for years. And we had no idea. You're clearly smart, and careful. So why give yourself up now?" he whispered into her ear. "Why not just publish what you know? It would have ensured your safety. No one would have dared take you out then- too public." He pulled back and stared deeply into her eyes, his pupils rapidly dilating and contracting. She wasn't wearing vervain, that much he knew. So unless she'd been drinking it, she'd tell him the truth.

A hazy, glazed look came over her face, and he believed it was genuine. Compulsion was very difficult to fake, and her face was an open book. He gripped the sides of her face, careful to appear tender. To the bartender, or anyone walking by, they would look intimate.

"Why did you seek me out?" he asked her carefully.

"I want..." she trailed off, dreamlike and slow in her response. She wanted to answer him, he could tell, but she seemed too lost in his eyes to respond.

"Me? That's a common reaction," Damon joked, despite himself.

"I want you to kill me."

Damon blinked in surprise, but recovered and regained eye contact after a fraction of a second. "Why?"

"I want to die, and become a vampire. I want to experience everything, not just the life I have now."

"What do you want to experience?"

"Everything. I've lived as a human. Now I want to live in the darkness. There's always been this dark current inside of me. I could never tell anyone. I could never explain it, not even to myself. I'm tired of fighting it. Hiding it. I just want to let it take over."

She said all of this almost casually. This was a fact for her. She had been living with it for a long, long time, Damon could tell that much.

Damon dropped his hands back to his lap, then lifted the drink the bartender had left in front of him to his mouth and slammed the whole thing back. Isobel shook her head, shaking off the remnants of the compulsion. She tipped her head back, laughing. Damon raised an eyebrow- he hadn't made her forget what she'd told him, so she was jovial even knowing she'd just asked him to bring about her death.

This was not an average chick.

"Wow... that was amazing. I can't believe you can really DO that. I mean, I've read about it, but..."

"Shut up," Damon said, making eye contact again. She immediately trailed off. "Don't be scared, I'm doing you a favor. Once you know me a little better, you'll realize how out-of-character that is for me, so don't blow it."

He regarded her steadily. "I've been following you for three days, ever since John told me you were looking to get in touch with me. You have a husband, a good job, friends, a big house. If you become a vampire, you will have to give all of it up. You will become someone else, and you will have to GO somewhere else. Your life as you know it will be completely finished. It really is like a death. Do you really want to do that?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation.

He paused, and his dark eyes flashed. "Why?"

"I told you. I'm through with this life. I want something more."

He dropped her eyes again. She ducked her head and laughed. "I just can't stop saying it... wow."

"You took the word out of my mouth, there… you are full of surprises." he said dryly. In a more amused tone, he asked, "So you want to be a vampire. Okay. Let's say I agree to this- and I have NOT agreed to it yet. What's your plan?"

"My plan?"

"Well, you're going to need an escape plan. You can pretend to go crazy and leave your husband and your work, you can fake your own death… but you need some sort of plan."

"Ah. That." She looked down, and Damon saw the first sign of hesitation since she'd begun talking. "I have been thinking about it. I don't think that just writing a "Dear John" letter would work very well. My husband wouldn't stop searching. He would want to know why. He'd find me."

"Ah, the devoted husband... that DOES present a problem."

"But not an insurmountable one," she said quickly, as though she was afraid he'd jump up and leave. "If he thinks I'm dead, maybe he won't look for as long. If there's lots of evidence... maybe eventually he'll give up." She looked down, stirred her drink.

Damon could tell she felt guilty. _Hilarious._ "A fake drowning is always a good way to go," he offered. "No body, washed away..." He was kind of getting a kick out of plotting some misery for Isobel's husband. Damon had seen him briefly from a distance and had disliked him instantly and intensely.

And he liked planning misery in general.

"I had another idea in mind, actually. Something more convincing." Damon raised an eyebrow and waited for her to continue. "You give me your blood, then I die, then I wake up and drink human blood, right? That's what my research has said. That's how you become a... what you are."

"You sure you want to give up research as a gig? You're damn good at it. Yeah, that's how it works. That's how you become a"- he stage whispered- "vampire." He dropped his jaw in mock horror and covered his mouth. "Ooh- I said the magic word."

She laughed softly. "Okay, so you give me your blood, however much of it I need to come back- I couldn't figure THAT part out, how much I'll need- and then you kill me. In the house... our house, mine and my husband's. As messily as possible. There'll be blood everywhere, more than anyone could survive losing. You can drink some of it, of course, but leave as much as you need to all over the place, that'll make it believable that I died. Then you take me somewhere and leave me, and I'll, you know, wake up."

Damon was taken aback. "You are something else."

She looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"You know this is going to be _extremely_ painful, right? Bleeding to death? Especially considering we could go for the fake drowning scenario, and then I could just snap your neck." The instant the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. All he could think about now was blood. Blood, and possibilities. He had drained a willing victim completely dry without compulsion only once in over a century. Nothing else had ever compared, or would ever compare. Suddenly he couldn't see straight. He struggled to maintain the exact same expression as before.

"I'm sure," she said, and her voice was light.

He made a snap decision. "Okay. I'll do it."

She stared at him. "_Really?_ You promise?"

Damon laughed. "Promises are for high school sweethearts. But yeah, I'll keep my word."

Isobel looked awed. "Thank you."

He waved off her thanks. "Whatever. It's nothing to me but a few hours and a meal. Any questions?"

She paused. "Well, since you brought it up… what's it like to die from blood loss? I lost a lot of blood once, but I was so high when it happened, I didn't feel a thing."

He thought for a minute, wondering if she could handle the truth. He decided she could. "Cold."

"How so?"

He smiled dimly, reaching for something from very, very far away. A memory. "There's a reason they call it _circulation_, Isobel. Blood circles through your body..." and here he gently reached for her arm, turned it over, and traced the vein from her wrist to her elbow, then back again, in a series of figure eights. "It keeps you warm. When you lose it, a lot of it-" he stopped, swallowed- "all of it, your veins literally run dry. When your heart slows down and finally stops, there's nothing to pump, and your veins are empty. It's like freezing to death, while you're already dying of thirst. It's a terrible, painful way to die."

She didn't flinch. "I can take it."

"Oh, I have no doubt that you can, or you wouldn't be here," he said with a smile. He moved his hand to her thigh, and traced the vein there. "But I can warm you up first, too." He winked and raised an eyebrow. "Right before you die, why not have the experience of a lifetime?"

She inhaled sharply. "If that's what you want, then of course. Yes."

"Oh, that is what I want, Isobel." He stared deeply into her eyes, and she felt as though she'd catch on fire. "Because something you need to know about what I am... what YOU will be... is that we don't do something for nothing. Ever."

"I can understand that. I'll give you anything you want." She placed her hand over his on her leg, and he knew she meant it. She would do anything to become what he was, to leave her human life behind. _Anything_.

This could be fun.

His eyes gleamed. He got up from his stool and pulled some money out of his pocket. "So, when do you want to do this?" he asked casually, like they were scheduling a movie. He tossed the money on the bar.

Despite her conviction, she paused. But there was no going back. He'd already assured her of that. It was death, to prevent her from telling his secret, or become a part of the secret herself. There was no third option.

She didn't want one, anyway. She took a deep breath, and scheduled her own murder.

"Next week. Thursday. I have some things I have to take care of first…my husband."

"Time?"

"My husband has class from 9 a.m. until 11 p.m. on Thursdays." She paused and Damon heard her heartbeat quicken, just a little. _More guilt._ "It's his long day."

"So we have allllll day," he said, a smile on his lips. "And into the night."

"Yes."

He kissed her lightly on the cheek and whispered, "Until Thursday, then. Unless you want a preview? You don't want to go into this without a rehearsal, believe me. And it'll give you one last chance to change your mind. If you do... I promise I'll kill you as painlessly" he hissed into her ear, "as possible." He settled his hand on her lower back, lifting her shirt and lightly touching her skin.

She shivered. "I won't change my mind. I don't need a preview."

"All right." He turned to leave.

She stood up, surprising herself. "But..."

He looked over his shoulder, barely five feet away from her. He smiled when he saw her face. He'd seen _this_ so many times before. It was nice to know that regardless of her darkness, and her unusual request, there was something about her that was absolutely average.

"...I want one."

He reached back for her. She stretched her hand out slowly, feeling like she was underwater. This was wrong, wrong, wrong. She had to do what she had to do on Thursday, to become what she wanted, _needed _to become, but this... this was wrong. This was a completely unnecessary betrayal. But she had never felt like this. And he could have compelled her to go with him, but... he didn't. She grasped his hand, shivered at its temperature. He pulled her towards him and tucked her under his arm.

"Like you said... I'm full of surprises."


	3. Chapter 3 Pain

High up in the hotel he had been living out of, Damon backed Isobel into his bedroom like a lion cornering his prey. He flashed his teeth and, without compelling her, told her to undress, slowly. She played along, following his order obediently and with a flicker of fear in her eyes. She watched as his dark eyes took in the sight of her, with only her underwear left on. A few thin, faded scars dotted her collarbone and her torso, she knew, and then there was the deep, long-suffering gash on her thigh—it still ached occasionally—but other than that her skin was flawless pale silk. She almost looked like a vampire already.

He closed the distance between them, and she fought to keep still. Despite her conscious mind telling her _Yes_, her subconscious sensed that Damon was a predator and that she was in danger.

_Fight or flight fight or flight fight or flight_…

Isobel chose to fight, but not Damon. She fought her own nature, and she won, standing powerlessly yet fearlessly before her future killer.

Damon had her backed against the wall now. His hands pinned her wrists so hard that Isobel knew she'd have bruises. He buried his face in her hair—animalistic in his need to discover her scent, before he took what he wanted? Maybe so, because an instant later she felt teeth scrape her neck. She felt that old familiar pang in her chest, and that pull in her stomach- but now he was here, he was _here_. It was real. Finally.

She used to make John pretend. She knew that he hated it, but he did it because he loved her. The same reason he made the call to Damon. He loved her. With Alaric, she had tried to bury it completely, and even when she could not longer hide her fascination, she had never let on that the monsters she was looking for were who she wanted to be, and to be with. Alaric was so _good_, so filled with light, that she knew that even if he tried to, he could never love what she truly was. It just wasn't in his nature.

John knew everything and loved her still.

But it wasn't enough. Neither of them ever would be, in the end. She was selfish and she was dark, and the only way for anyone to make it out of this hell was for her to just. Give. _In_.

Damon's teeth were still on her throat. He almost seemed like he was holding his breath. "Do it..." she whispered.

He laughed, and ran his finger down the side of her neck. Nearly a caress, but then he grabbed her hair violently, and it hurt. "Do what, Isobel? What do you want me to do?"

"Bite me..."

"Once I get started, you know…I won't stop."

"Don't. No matter what I…" she managed.

Softly, he returned to nuzzling her neck. She thought he was going to slip his teeth gently into her skin, and was wondering why, when suddenly Damon pulled his head back and, in one astonishingly fast movement, buried his teeth into her neck and slammed her onto the bed. One hand supported his weight on top of her, the other held her arms above her head, keeping her still. It was a good thing, too.

As Damon drained her, Isobel's screams became pleas, which eventually gave way to quiet moans, but he never stopped. She didn't want him to. She couldn't tell how much time was passing. She didn't care. She didn't focus on anything but the exquisite pain. It began in her throat but ricocheted throughout her body—her veins gasping as the blood was so suddenly ripped from them. It was like being on fire, but in the best possible way. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. What she and John had done was laughable by comparison.

Damon slowed in his pace, pulling the blood more and more slowly. He growled, an inhuman, guttural sound that reverberated through her body. She wrapped her legs around him, feeling the cold metal of his belt buckle against her stomach. He was hard beneath his jeans, and she felt his body automatically thrust against her. She pulled him closer.

Damon pulled back from her neck, and the whites of his eyes were blood-red. The veins around his eyes were pronounced, swollen, and his face dripped with gore. He released her arms, but she couldn't lift them. She was weak. So weak. He used his newly-freed hand to rip her underwear off, cleanly, then to unbuckle his belt and free himself from his jeans.

"Is that what you wanted?" he hissed at her. He pressed himself against her. "Is this really what you want for yourself?"

"Yes," she whispered. With her last remaining ounce of strength, Isobel lifted a heavy arm and traced her fingers over his face, _his true face_. Her blood dripped from his mouth onto hers.

"I want this," Isobel murmured. "I don't know why…but it's all I ever wanted."

Damon captured her mouth in a hungry kiss, and then he was inside of her in what seemed like an instant. She cried out, and his face disappeared. As Isobel's eyes closed, Damon stopped moving inside of her. _Why?_ Isobel wondered. Because he couldn't see the fear in her eyes anymore? Did he need that fear to get off, or was it just a bonus? She knew she was blacking out, but she wanted him to have some sort of reward, something for giving her what she wanted. She wanted to give him something he wanted, in return. And she wasn't so attached to her human body anymore; he could do what he liked to it. "I'm slipping off for a while, keep going," she whispered, "I want you to." After a brief pause, he kissed her now-closed eyelids lightly, and pushed deeper inside her as she faded away.

Author's Note: Dark stuff, I know, but Isobel always seemed like a very dark character to me! The next chapter will take place the day that Isobel turns..


End file.
